The Bride's Prerogative (24 page)

CHAPTER 28

E
than knocked softly on the kitchen door at Hiram’s the next morning. He usually came to town later, but he had a lot to do today. Trudy opened the door and surveyed him with calm, grayish eyes.

“Morning.”

“Morning yourself.” He held up the dirty sack he’d brought. “Thought Hiram and I could go through this sack of things we found near Mrs. Peart’s body before we go out to her place.”

She nodded. “He’s out in the barn.”

“I’ll just go on out there then.” He held her gaze for a long moment, trying to think of something else to say. He didn’t want the conversation to end so suddenly. She might be off who-knows-where by the time he and Hiram came back from the Pearts’ homestead. “Uh … will you be around later, when we come back from Milzie’s?”

Trudy leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m planning to help Isabel this morning. Her father’s set her to cleaning up the old boardinghouse so they can serve meals and house the stagecoach workers and passengers. But I’ll come back to fix lunch, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Wasn’t worried.”

“Oh.” They stood there in silence, she at the kitchen door and he on the worn path below the bottom step. “You boys will be ready for something to eat when you get back, I expect.”

“That’s kind of you. I expect we will.”

She nodded, and for an instant, a smile lit her features. Ethan found himself returning the smile.

“Go on,” she said with a wave of her hand. She stepped inside and shut the door.

He found Hiram spreading fresh straw in the horses’ stalls. Ethan sat down on the feed bin and waited for him to finish. A minute later, Hiram stood his pitchfork against the wall and walked over.

“Milzie’s bag?” Hiram nodded toward the sack.

“Yup. Figured we could go through this first. I looked at it some, and I showed it to Bitsy and Oscar. I figure it’s stuff Milzie picked up the day she was killed.” Ethan stood and emptied the sack on top of the feed bin. He pushed the black socks and two tins of food to one side. “Libby told me Milzie came to the emporium that day, and she gave her these things. The rest of it’s junk.”

“You didn’t put the stuff from her pockets in there, did you?” Hiram asked.

“You mean that busted egg?” Ethan wrinkled his nose. “That got thrown away with her clothes.”

Hiram nodded toward the things on the feed bin.

“Well, this here”—Ethan picked up a china cup with no handle—“matches the good china Bitsy uses for the Sunday dinner. She said Milzie probably found it in her trash heap. The rest is just a tin can, a couple of nails, and an old ox shoe. Oh, and there’s a piece of a mirror in that newspaper.”

Hiram picked up the wad of paper.

“Careful,” Ethan said. “It’s sharp.”

Hiram unwrapped the shard, turned it over in his hand, and laid it down with the other things.

“That’s it.” Ethan looked down at the meager assortment and shook his head.

“Stuff she found in the rubbish?”

“I reckon, except for what Libby gave her.”

Hiram took Hoss’s bridle from a peg on the wall. “I’ll get my nag.”

Gert carried her broom and a bucket half full of water down the street toward the old boardinghouse. She wore her oldest housedress and had tied a linen dish towel over her hair. She still couldn’t find her red kerchief, but she needed some protection from spiders and such. At her waist, a cloth bag of rags hung against her apron.

Maitland Dostie, no doubt on his way to the telegraph office, where he presided, passed her on the boardwalk. He eyed her speculatively but murmured only, “Miss Dooley.”

“Good morning.” Gert fought down the urge to explain why she went about so early in a patched dress carrying a pail of water. He’d hear soon enough that the boardinghouse had reopened.

Her destination lay between the jail and the Nugget, but the saloon was quiet despite the early morning bustle of the town. Out front of the boardinghouse, a horse and wagon stood tied up at the hitching rail, and a rock propped open the door of the rambling building. In the wagon bed lay a mop, a broom, a small crock, a basket, and two tubs.

Gert mounted the rickety steps. Maybe Hiram could fix those—if Cyrus would pay him. He wouldn’t want to do anything that would help line Cyrus’s pockets unless he received compensation. Gert understood, but as she’d told him last night, she wanted to help Isabel even though she wouldn’t be paid.

Isabel had never befriended other young women in the town. It was about time she learned what benefits friendship could bring. Hiram had taken that information in with his usual calm. He rarely interfered with Gert’s actions and never criticized her decisions. Sometimes she wished he would say more, but usually she counted it a blessing that she lived with a quiet man.

Thumping echoed through the empty building. Stepping into the shadowy interior, she called, “Isabel?”

“Out here,” came the faint reply.

Gert crossed a large, open room to a door that led into what she guessed was the kitchen. Boards covered the two windows on the outside, but the back door stood open, admitting a thin stream of light. One window’s lowest board had been removed, and she saw a flash of blue through the dusty glass. She set down her broom and bucket then walked over to the back door.

Isabel stood outside, wielding a claw hammer. “I’m trying to get these boards off so we can see what we’re doing.” With a grunt, she ripped one end of a board free from the window frame.

“Let me help you.” Gert stepped down into a tangle of prickly poppies and grass. Neither of them stood tall enough to reach higher than the two bottom boards on each window.

“I don’t suppose you have a ladder,” Gert said.

“No. There may be a stool or a bench inside.”

Gert went to search for one. By the time she came back with a wooden crate, Isabel had done all she could and stood panting against the clapboards.

Gert placed her crate beneath the first window and held out her hand for the hammer.

“You really came,” Isabel said.

“Sure.” Gert could only manage to take down two more boards from each window.

Isabel laid them neatly by the back stoop. “It’s enough for now.”

“Yoo-hoo!”

Isabel jumped and stared toward the doorway. “Who can that be?”

Gert laughed.

Isabel climbed one step and called through the vacant rooms, “We’re out here, in back.”

A moment later, Annie Harper came through the door and stood on the stoop eyeing Gert’s handiwork.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Gert said to Isabel. “I mentioned to Annie yesterday what you were doing, and she said she might be able to come for an hour or two.”

“Myra’s with me, too,” Annie said. “She’s lugging a pail of warm water.”

Isabel blinked several times and pulled in a deep breath. “Thank you. I … don’t know what to say.”

Annie reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “This will be fun.”

“Fun?” Isabel looked doubtfully up at her.

“Of course. I don’t get to work with other women very often. We can sweep and scrub and talk. Let’s get at it.”

Isabel threw a tremulous smile in Gert’s direction and followed her inside.

Myra had set down her pail of water just inside the kitchen.

“What first, Mama?”

Annie looked at Isabel. “The kitchen?”

“Yes, please. Then the dining room. If we get to it, I’ll want to do the hallway and stairs next, and two bedchambers for guests.”

“I think it’s fine that you’re going to serve meals. This town needs another decent eatery.” Annie picked up Gert’s broom and vigorously attacked the floor.

Gert didn’t try to determine what Annie was counting as the first decent place to eat. If they got too specific, Isabel might take offense, since the Spur & Saddle was the only place Gert could think of where folks could get a good meal, and that was only at noon on Sunday, though she’d heard that lately Augie kept a stew simmering for desperate travelers.

“This is a good, big kitchen,” Gert said. “Once we wash the windows and scrub down the shelves, you’ll have a wonderful place to work.”

“Maybe we could paint the walls a cheerful color,” Annie said. “Do you like yellow?”

Isabel looked around at the drab, dark board walls. “That would be lovely, but for now, I thought I’d work on getting the place clean. Then I need to lay in supplies. Papa wants me to serve luncheon to the coach passengers on Thursday.”

“Will you do all the cooking and cleaning yourself?” Myra asked, wide-eyed.

“Well, I …” Isabel faltered and wrung out a rag in the warm water. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll bring over a couple of loaves of fresh bread Thursday morning,” Annie said. “If you want, that is, so’s to be sure you’ve got plenty for your first day or two.”

Gert nodded. “And I’ll bring you some dried apple pies.”

Isabel stood motionless with the rag in her hand. “I … thank you both. It would certainly ease my mind a bit for the opening day.”

Gert’s mind whirled as she calculated how many of the local men might decide to drop in to taste the cooking on Thursday. When word got around, Isabel might build a regular lunchtime clientele. “I could make pies for you regular, if you’d like.”

Isabel’s face softened. “Would you really? I’m not so good with pastry. I suggested to Papa that we might find someone to do part of the baking.”

“I’d be happy to,” Gert said.

“Think about what your time is worth. I’ll have Papa order all the supplies.”

Gert smiled. “Sure. But for the first day, it will be my gift to help you succeed.”

“Yes, my bread, too,” said Annie.

“That sounds delightful. I do appreciate it.” Isabel stood and headed for the nearest tier of shelves. “Oh … how many pies do you think we’ll need, Gert?”

“Hard to say. Maybe you could start with half a dozen on Thursday and see how much you sell. If you get a lot of business, I could do six on Mondays and again on Thursday.”

“Those are shooting club days,” Myra called from where she wiped the first layer of grime from the windows with a dry cloth.

“That’s right. But I should be able to make pies in the morning.” Gert rolled up her sleeves. “We’ll see how it goes, shall we?”

Annie’s voice lilted out in a sudden burst of “Rock of Ages.” Isabel stared at her. Myra joined in with her sweet alto, covering her mother’s wobbles.

Gert smiled at Isabel. How long since she’d heard singing outside of the last few weeks’ church services? She picked up a rag and hummed along as she soaked it and wrung it out.

A few minutes later, as the quartet came to the end of the third verse, a red-tinted shadow loomed in the open front doorway. Gert looked up from sweeping the hearth where the old cookstove had once stood.

“Well, Bitsy, I’m glad you could make it.” She straightened and walked over to greet the newcomer. Not so long ago, she’d thought of Bitsy only as “that saloon woman.” She smiled at the wonder of the changes seen in Fergus over the past six weeks. They had a church, women had been recognized as volunteer law enforcement officers, and she now claimed Bitsy Shepard as her friend.

Bitsy grinned and held up a basket. “Augie’s cinnamon rolls for when you ladies need sustenance.”

“Wonderful,” Gert said.